the_seafarer | [AU] to find all you seek

It's possible Reepicheep can go back and forth between the bar and Aslan's Country, as he can, but that will need to be something they discuss later, he thinks.

For now, he gestures for the Mouse to eat if he will, and Reepicheep falls to with a will. "Thank you, Sire," he says. "And you, La – Susan. It is so strange – there is food enough and more in His country, but I never feel all that hungry, unless I wish to eat. And when I do, it is like the waters of the Last Sea, leaving me utterly sated. And yet here, I am ravenous."

"Eat, then, good Mouse," Caspian says, smiling as the small knight neatly devours some bread and cheese. "I promise that the food here is as fine as the company."

Caspian seems so pleased to have his friend here, and Susan's delighted for his sake, and equally so by Reepicheep himself. "Ye can get almost anything from Bar," she explains. "The bar, but it's more than that, so she's called Bar as her name, too. Magic, I'm told --"

And oh, she realizes, she's not certain if the Mouse would be wary of such, and hastens to explain.

"-- but not of the evil sort, do'ee ken? Nymphadora tried to explain how the spell worked, but I wager no one truly expected what came of it in the end."

"Ah," says the Mouse, in the ones of one who now understands. "Like the magic that keeps the table at Ramandu's island filled, I suppose."

"Not quite," says Caspian, "but I suppose you could think of it that way. Certainly it is a kind and well-meaning sort of magic."

"If you say it is no threat, Sire, and you, Daughter of Eve, I trust your word," Reepicheep says. "I suppose that is the only explanation for finding Archenland wine beyond the edge of the world."

Caspian laughs. "Archenland wine and much more," he promises.

"No threat," she promises, firmly. "Nymphadora - ye'll kennit, when ye meet her, she has pink hair - she's sai Bernard's lady, and a witch, but one of those who works to protect others," Susan clarifies, as best she can.

"She's to be trusted, ye've my watch and warrant on it." And a promise from Pat Delgado's daughter isn't to be taken lightly, not that Reepicheep would have any way of knowing that, and this one the more so for offering faith in a witch. "She were telling me that the one who cast the spell to begin with were from her world, years ago. She knew him, before."

"I've never heard of a 'good' witch before," Reepicheep says, doubtful, but it's against his nature to question the word of a lady.

"But protective magic; that I know. Wasn't it that which brought the Kings and Queens of Old back to us in our hour of need."

"It was indeed," Caspian says, and smiles at Susan. "When I winded Queen Susan's horn and called them back to Narnia."

"I hadn't either, until I came here," Susan agrees. "Most aren't. But Nymphadora is."

She smiles back at Caspian, bright and shining. "All four of them, thee said."

"Yes; all four."

"If I remember correctly, your Majesty's tutor dabbled a little in magic," Reepicheep says, and Caspian nods.

"You remember rightly, good Mouse. Doctor Cornelius did a little magic, as a sort of hobby, but nothing anyone might call a working of any real power."

Fog-gray eyes widen at that.

"Did he teach thee?"

"Only theory," Caspian says, a little rueful. "He thought the practical part was not proper study for princes, though I would certainly have preferred that to some of my other lessons."

She's not entirely certain what to think of that, although she believes deep in her heart that Caspian would be one of those few who could be trusted with magic, if he chose to pursue it.

Susan glances at Reepicheep, to see if this is surprising in any way to him.

"And right he was," exclaims Reepicheep. "What use has a soldier and a knight for tricks and spells? Give me a sharp blade of good Dwarven steel any day and I will prove its worth in clean battle over that of any so-called magician."

"I believe you would," Caspian says, amused.

Susan beams at the Mouse. "Caspian'll see to getting ye exactly such a blade," she tells him, completely certain of her words. "Sai Gimli does fine work."

"He does indeed," Caspian assures Reepicheep.

"As fine as the work from the Seven Brothers ever was. And he has a great many stories I think you'll enjoy, Reep."

"Did he tell thee of the horse people? Those of Rohan?" she asks Caspian, and then explains to Reepicheep, not wanting him to feel left out.

"Rohan's a country in his world, with plains and grasslands and fine horses kept by the people there, and mountain strongholds and fierce fighters who held against a great enemy."

Caspian shakes his head, but Reepicheep grows animated, getting to his feet on the chair seat, his warrior's blood up and singing at the mention of a stand against the forces of evil.

"And did they win the day?" he asks, in his high, clear voice. "These warriors?"

"They did," she assures him. "Rohan held fast, and others joined them, and the great enemy Sauron were defeated and driven from their world forever."

"Sai Gimli's a fine storyteller, and nothing loath to tell the tale, which he says is written in books besides."

(the stories are true)

Something a little wry flickers across her expression at that, but her smile remains warm and bright.

"Ah," says Reepicheep, satisfied. "Then I shall find him and ask for the story."

For his part, Caspian looks startled. "Books?" he says. "Like histories?"

"Mayhap thee'd call it a history," Susan tells him. "The stories are true, thee see - but this one were written by one of those who were there, not another. Sai Gimli said that he himself were among those who told him of what happened that they knew, and he combined that with what he did, and that in the end his book were known throughout their world."

"I see," he says.

"Not so different from the stories of Old Narnia that I grew up on, then, I expect. Or the books about the Golden Age and how the Kings and Queens of Old first appeared and defeated the Witch."

"Mayhap," she agrees, and cheerful, wry amusement's clear in her expression. "Or like the tales of Gilead and the gunslingers and those of the line of Arthur Eld that I grew up with."

"I imagine the historians have written of you, too, Sire," Reepicheep says, and Caspian looks momentarily dumbfounded.

"I suppose that's so, Reep. I can only hope they've gotten it all right."

She can't help herself - she puts her hand over his and squeezes his fingers in comfort.

"It's unsettling to think of, I kennit," she murmurs. "But surely they'll have told yer tale well."

He presses her hand and smiles at her, offering silent thanks for her comfort.

"Trumpkin will see to it," he says. "And Glenstorm the Centaur. Neither will allow too many flights of fancy. And after that, they'll do better to focus on Rilian and his descendants."

"Rilian, sire?" asks Reepicheep, curious, and Caspian winces, very slightly. Of course, the Mouse could not have known.

"My son," he says. "And now King of Narnia."

Her hand tightens on Caspian's at this, remembering the night Rilian had arrived and not known his father, or his own country, or anything. Susan stays silent, not wanting to give anything away, uncertain of how much Caspian would wish to tell.

He knows why Susan's hand tightens as it does –

(I tell you, I cannot be mistaken! Are you not Rilian, son of Caspian, and king of Narnia? Could I mistake my own son?)

– and he meets her glance with his own wry, understanding one as Reepicheep gasps his astonishment. "Your son! Why, Sire – "

"Yes," Caspian says, and hopes, even as he hates himself for it, that the door will remain closed and the Knight will not enter again. He's not sure he could bear it. "So, you see, Narnia is in good hands."

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